Late for Church
by Skinnyblackgirl
Summary: Juice/Kyra One-Shot. Tipsy after a fundraising event, Kyra comes home on a Friday night and finds a shirtless Juice getting ready for his weekly SAMCRO meeting. Taking the opportunity to address a longstanding grievance, she makes him late for Church. Rated M for smut. Juice/OC


_**AUTHOR'S NOTE: Some light-hearted smut for the Kyra/Juice fans. We also shave him bald, because like Kyra, I've never liked the mohawk. ;-) **_

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Quietly, she hates his hair.

When they met, she noticed the mohawk and tattoos first. Only after he spoke to her did she register his attractiveness-his smooth skin, easy smile, and dark brown eyes. Once they were an item, she got used to the ridiculous hair, but now and then, she imagined him without it; usually when his head was between her legs and the hair disrupted her caress of his otherwise smooth scalp.

"You ever thought about shaving it all off?" she asks on a Friday night when she comes home and catches him shirtless and shaving.

Razor poised over his head, Juice's eyes meet hers in the mirror. "Whoa," he says, eyes wide taking in her floor-length black gown with a plunging v-neck. "That's what you wore tonight?"

Kyra does a small twirl. "You like?"

"I bet you helped Oswald talk all those rich assholes out of their money looking like that."

"Someone has to champion the children's wing of St. Thomas," she replies, kicking off her shoes and standing almost a foot below him. "You didn't answer my question."

"What? Going bald? No. Mohawk's always been my thing."

She walks up behind him and runs her hand across the nape of his neck. "I get that," she breathes the words instead of saying them, knowing her breath on his neck riles him up.

He chuckles. "How much have you had to drink?"

"A couple glasses of champagne." The truth is, she stopped counting after four. Now she's running her hands along his bare back, admiring the Reaper tattoo that extends from his shoulders to the top of his boxers. "I can shave it for you."

"Now I know you're drunk."

Kyra twirls her wrist, emphasizing her tattoo of her mother's salon logo. "I grew up around barbers, remember? I know how to shave a head."

Juice puts down the blade. "You're for real?"

"It'll grow back quick if you don't like it," Kyra says and motions toward the toilet. "Sit. "

He shakes his head but doesn't refuse her. She's sobered by the blade in her hand and methodically, tenderly runs it over his lathered scalp. For a moment, she's back in Miss Rhonda's, watching her mother slip into a trance while transforming a client from frumpy to fabulous. Stroke by stroke, the lovable goofball she met years ago gives way to someone else.

When she's finished, she kisses the top of his head, happy to feel only freshly-shaved skin. "Stand up and look."

He examines her work, rubbing a tentative hand over his fresh scalp. Kyra steps back and lets her eyes sweep up his toned back, across his shoulders, and up to his head. His tribal tattoos stand out now; more menacing without the strip of hair between them. It's a small change but he's more...adult, she thinks. Fiercer. And she...is incredibly turned on.

She wraps her arms around his bare torso and kisses his back, "What do you think?" she asks, inching her hands toward his boxers.

"You obviously like it," he says with a grin, abs tensing when her fingers slip beneath his waistband. "C'mon, Kyra. I have Church tonight..."

She squeezes and strokes him, appreciating how quickly he hisses and stiffens for her. "So you don't want me to pull up this very sexy dress and straddle you?" she asks, licking and nibbling at his back. "I might be sleep when you get home tonight..."

"Shit..." He's pulsing in her hand now, more than ready to give her what she needs. In a flash, he turns around, swoops her up, and sets them on the floor with his back against the tub and her thighs around his torso. His eyes are feral, made more intense by his now-bald head. He's gripping her waist, licking and biting down her exposed cleavage, sending chills down her spine and jolts to her center. "Get me inside you before you make me late."

She doesn't need to be told twice. Her dress is hiked up and soaked thong pushed aside in an instant. They sigh collectively at first contact, delighting in the familiar sensation of him stretching her snug, welcoming walls.

"Fuck," she moans, her hands caressing his head. "You always..." she grinds down, fully seating him inside her and pulsing around him, "...feel so fucking good."

Juice's hands are under her dress, clenching her ass cheeks as she winds against him. This is how he likes it in this position-deep as possible with her hot, wet insides massaging him. "So good..." he grunts into her neck. "You better get us off quick..."

Kyra sits back and raises a brow. "By myself?"

He lifts his hips and nips at her chin. "You started it," reaching for one of her wrists, he puts her hand between them. "Finish it."

She leans back on one arm, letting him steer her hips while she drives into him with increasing ferocity, her fingers dancing over her clit, teasing out her pleasure. She'll get them there, but she wants to enjoy it a little longer...

"Just like that," he coaches, heightening her arousal. "Get that shit good and wet for me."

She loses herself in the rhythm and presses circles into her slippery nub. There's a coil at the base of her spine and she knows she's almost there...

"You look so good. Fucking me on the bathroom floor in that dress..."

She gasps when his hand trails up her torso and squeezes her breast. Her spine tingles, skin goes flush, muscles tighten... She closes her eyes and whimpers as a warm burst explodes inside her, rushing up to her breasts and down her thighs while she shivers on top of him.

Juice takes over then, stroking into her with a punishing pace, prolonging her pleasure and seeking his own. "So-good-at-taking-this-dick," he growls. "Fucking...best..." he swells inside her and holds her down, letting her quaking walls swallow him whole. "Fuuuuuuu-" His release is thunderous, cutting off his words as he spurts and spills into her for what feels like forever until they collapse against the side of the tub, chests heaving.

"Goddammit," he says, once he can form words.

She blinks out of her trance. "What?"

"I'm late for Church."


End file.
